A Second Chance
by Roses-are-red-so-are-lassos
Summary: The fateful night of the Opera changed everyone, and nothing will ever be the same again. Can the lost souls of Erik and Christine bring themselves back to normality, or has it all been ruined? Will either of them ever be given a second chance to change the paths they took? ALW based - E/C.
1. Chapter 1

**A little story that has been playing around in my mind for a while and I just have to get it out of my system! I apologise in advance if I don't update regularly, it's not often I get time to sit down and write away! Anyway, I hope you enjoy this story, however long it takes me to write it. As usual, I do not own any of the characters and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. Reviews are always welcome and thank you to those who take the time to read my silly ramblings!**

The first thing that Raoul De Chagny felt when he eyed the letter and ring she had left on her bureau dressing table was betrayal. Then it was confusion and then a deep, unsettling sense of melancholy that she had gone without even saying goodbye to his face. Her belongings, little that they were, had once brought some character to the vast room she had inhabited for a few months. Now they too were gone, fled with their owner and it had left the room feeling lifeless and small. Sighing, he picked up the ring, rolling it between his fingers as he watched the stones glint coolly in the late morning light and grimaced at how such a light ring could feel like such a dead weight in his grasp. Emotionlessly, he pocketed the ring away in the breast pocket of his burgundy waistcoat, ignoring how it felt like he had just put a heavy stone inside and turned his attention to the letter.

His name was stark yet it had been delicately written on to the creamy envelope in her slight hand, her final farewell encased inside but he could not bring himself to read it. Deep down, he knew that the words were meaningless, that they were an excuse to hide her true feelings that she had been too ashamed to admit to him personally. He knew that she still ached for that distorted creature that had come into their lives and shaken it all up beyond recognition of who they once were. The girl with the red scarf and the boy who had ran in to the sea to fetch it. The boy who had been her friend when she grew lonely. The boy who had been there for her when her father had died, before he was swiftly sent away to boarding school by his overbearing parents. All of that had seemingly been forgotten once that dastardly man had had his way.

He found himself brushing her finger across the ink of his name, thinking of how she must've decided what she would do the night before for her writing was not rushed in anyway. She had taken the time to write this, he could sense it, but he did not want to read it. Not yet anyway. With a short sigh, he slowly slid the note off the surface and into his trouser pocket before he turned away towards the door, noting with surprise that his brother lingered uncertainly in the doorway.

"Everything alright, Raoul?" He enquired softly, noticing how his brother looked completely void of any emotion at all. His once jovial eyes appeared to be dead in the soft morning light and he shrugged nonchalantly, gesturing to the empty room.

"Well, she's gone. So… No. Everything isn't alright. At all." His voice was quiet and tired and Philippe watched him with concern as he came towards him, pushing past him to go out in to the hallway. Philippe cleared his throat in discomfort, closing the door behind them before he followed his brother down the hallway.

"Maybe it's a good thing that she has... You know, gone." Philippe ventured wearily, for he knew of the extent to which his parents disapproved of Raoul and Christine's betrothal and poor Raoul only knew the half of it. Raoul remained silent until they had reached the top of the grand staircase before he turned sharply to look at him, his hand gripping the bannister so hard that Philippe could see the white of his knuckles press against his skin.

"Did you plan this? I know how much you all disapproved of her. Everyone made that crystal clear. Were you all behind her leaving?" Raoul asked, ignoring his statement and Philippe blanched at the undertone of malice in his voice. He had never witnessed Raoul, his sunny, happy go lucky brother to talk like this and truthfully, it frightened him.

"No, we… Raoul we have nothing to do with this. It appears that it is her decision alone." He admitted helplessly and Raoul's face became crestfallen at his words.

"I see. Well… Must be getting on with the day I suppose." He said monotonously, continuing down the stairs and into the lobby where the few maids that were working there quickly ducked out of view in to the shadows. He eyed them suspiciously, wondering how much they had been involved with her escape before he was distracted by his brothers heavy footsteps behind him.

"Raoul, I know you are upset. Why don't we play a game of backgammon and have a smoke? Talk this over properly?" Philippe implored but once more, Raoul ignored his words and made off towards his study that was situated at the far end of the manor house.

"No, thank you." He said without looking back, before adding quietly, "I'd much rather be alone."

With a sigh, Philippe ran his hands through his greying locks as he watched after his brother in concern, before he wondered off in the opposite direction, cursing the heavens under his breath that they had introduced Mademoiselle Daae into their lives in the first place.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 2 for you. As usual, I do not own any of the characters and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. Reviews are always welcome and thank you to those who take the time to read my silly little ramblings!**

~ O ~

Ignoring the aching grey clouds that had started to roll overhead, Christine hurried down the damp streets of Paris to the one place where she knew she could rest, for now. It was a sanctum of sorts, a place she had spent a small part of her later childhood before she was transferred to the dormitories of the Palais Garnier. Shrinking further into the comfort of her cloak, she quickly trod down avenues lined with gnarled birches, their spindly branches twisting up towards the sky. Had she taken the time to look at them, she would've noticed how their bark had started to peel off so that it looked like someone had tied torn cotton around their trunks but she was far too agitated to take anything in.

Despite the fact that the weather was miserable and a steady drizzle had begun to set in, the streets were still busy with vendors selling their wares and people meandering the streets. No one seemed to take any notice of her, however. She thought that if they did see her, then they would probably stop and stare and the rumours would start to be whispered amongst them. Those rumours would find their way back to Raoul and then she knew that he would come after her in an attempt to stop her foolishness, which she couldn't allow. Not yet, when her brain was still swimming with indecision.

It wasn't long before she reached the familiar, quiet street that led to the house that she was looking for, where a beggar had occupied the end corner. He gave her a forlorn look with his tired, dull eyes when she passed by and rattled his tin before he turned his attention back to the main road when he realised she wouldn't be sparing any change for him.

The once ebony black door soon came into view, its paint blistered after years of wear, mainly due to the weather and lack of care. It was a door that Christine associated with safety and comfort as she rapidly knocked on it, before she took a few steps back, clenching and unclenching her hand. She didn't even know if they would be in, she didn't even know if they had moved somewhere else to escape the debacle of what happened all those months ago. It was another reason why she had left Raoul after his insistence that she shouldn't contact any one from the Opera House. Even her own family.

A sudden panic came over her when no one responded after a few minutes, making her wonder if they truly had moved far away, never to return, but her fear was soon replaced with relief when she finally heard the lock of the door being fiddled with on the other side. The door opened a crack, revealing the wonderfully, friendly and familiar face of Meg who looked at the hooded figure in confusion, before realisation washed over her face when Christine edged her hood back.

"Christine!" She exclaimed, opening the door further so she could enfold the trembling girl into her open arms and Christine smiled gratefully at her genuine friendliness. She hadn't spoken to Meg in almost two months, but it was clear that nothing had changed between the pair and their bond was still undeniably strong.

"Meg… I've missed you so much." She started to sob, her emotions overcoming her as Meg pulled away and grasped her hands gently in her own.

"I've missed you to! It's been so long since we have heard from you." Christine cringed in shame at the underlying sadness in her friends voice and looked down at their hands.

"I know. I am so sorry about that but…. That's part of the reason why I am here. There is so much I need to tell you. So much I need to figure out… I am just so confused." She murmured in exasperation. Meg could certainly sense her adopted sisters distress and squeezed her hands softly before she looked questioningly at the small carpet bag by Christine's feet. "I… Would it be alright if I stayed here for bit?" Christine asked, noticing Meg's look.

"Of course it is, silly. You know Mama and I would never turn you away. Come on." Stooping down, she picked up Christine's bag for her and led her into the warmth of the house, locking the door securely behind her. Noticing Christine's curious look at abundance of locks that had newly habited the front door, Meg shrugged and waved her hand dismissively though she couldn't quite hide the look of concern on her face.

"Mama is being particularly vigilant recently… She doesn't feel quite safe here. Especially at night or when she is on her own." She explained as she led Christine up the stairs and the latter couldn't help but feel that it was partially her fault.

Her old room had remained virtually unchanged, though she realised with dismay when Meg had gone to fetch some bed linen and blankets that her window had been sealed shut. It was painfully clear how truly cautious her adoptive mother had become and wondered how long it would be before they decided to leave this place forever.

"Christine, are you alright to make the bed?" Megs sunny voice suddenly said, interrupting Christine's thoughts as she turned from the window to find a stack of linen on the bed and Meg looking into the mirror on the dressing table . She was concentrating on tying her hair in to a bun and the image brought memories flooding back to Christine of their times giggling in the dressing rooms as they got ready for a performance at the Opera House. The sudden memory brought a painful sting and tears to her eyes as she reminisced over times that used to be so simple but was quick to wipe them away.

"Yes, of course. Are you off to a rehearsal?" Christine enquired, gesturing to the bun when Meg gave her a lost look.

"Oh! Oh, no… Not quite." Meg smiled wanly as she put the finishing touches to her bun. There was so much that they needed to catch up on, so much lost time between them. "No, I'm teaching ballet at a local dance hall. It's not quite Palais Garnier standard, but it will do."

"Oh… Well, good for you! That sounds like it could be interesting." The question of Meg's future dancing career died on her lips and instead, she smiled gently. They could always catch up over that later. Meg shrugged in response, noticing how Christine had been about to speak and knew what she was thinking.

"It's not quite what I had planned but it keeps me preoccupied. It can be quite rewarding when one of the girls finally masters a move! I understand now why Mama did it for so long." Meg gave her a tight smile before she checked the time on her delicate wristwatch that she had received many Christmases ago and jumped when she realised the time.

"I have to go now or I'll be late. You'll be alright on your own for a bit, won't you? Mama should be home soon, just make sure you make your presence known to her." Meg warned gently and Christine nodded in response.

"Yes, I'll be fine. Thank you, Meg. It is truly wonderful to see you again." Sensing the sadness in her sisters voice, Meg took Christine's hand in her own and gave it a tender, reassuring squeeze before she disappeared into the hallway and down the stairs. Christine, now on her own, silently made the bed up and sat down on the edge of it once she had done so and rested her head in her hands, resuming the battle with herself if she had made the right decision after all.


	3. Chapter 3

**As usual, I do not own any of the characters and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. Reviews are always welcome and thank you to those who take the time to read my silly ramblings! **

3 MONTHS AGO – THE AFTERMATH.

~0~

As he stood and gawped at the spectacle that was unfolding before him, Nadir decided that this probably ranked as one of the most mindless, reckless and stupid acts that Erik had ever committed. He watched in horror as the fire ripped through the back of the Opera house as the smartly dressed patrons and audience members spilled out of the front doors, with many crying in terror at the scene that played before them.

He forced his legs to move closer towards the building, a bucket brigade having already formed in an attempt to douse the flames but until the fire brigade arrived, he knew it would not make a difference. Spectators talked amongst themselves, pointing when a window smashed outwards from the heat causing people to scatter in the opposite direction as glass showered down on the people below. Grimacing, Nadir approached the scene looking to find answers as to what had happened inside and asked the first person he saw.

"Excuse me," he asked a rather portly man who was trying to comfort his sobbing wife, "but what on earth happened in there?" The man scoffed and shook his hand in an effort to shoo him away.

"Can't you see I am trying to attend to my wife? Ask someone else!" Nadir bit the inside of his lip in frustration and went on to ask anyone else he could find.

He received more or the less same answer from anyone he asked, as they were all far too self-absorbed to even register his simple question. He was close to giving up when he came across a slightly bedraggled man who was dressed far more plainly than the rest of the gossiping crowd, his hair bedraggled and his face smudged with soot. A worker, perhaps, far more likely to know what had truly happened inside and so Nadir asked him the same question he'd been asking all night and was overjoyed when he finally got a straightforward answer.

"It's to do with that bloody Phantom," he sniffed harshly, rubbing his nose as if soot had worked its way up his nostril, "It has to be. There is no way that chandelier could've unhinged itself, no sir. I worked on installing it with the lads and we all agreed that there is no way it could've fallen unless it had been tampered with."

"The chandelier trick again?" He asked, aghast, much to the grim amusement of the man.

"Yes Sir… Seems to be a favourite of his. Set it off right after he kidnapped poor Mademoiselle Daae but what a bloody idiot, not only did it almost kill the performers onstage but the people in the audience as well! And, the crash set the stage on fire! Timbers went straight up in flames like it were dry hay… Bloody miracle nobody died." Nadir's blood ran cold when he learnt that Christine had been kidnapped and he felt his mouth dry of any saliva that once used to reside there.

"Mademoiselle Daae was kidnapped?" Nadir stammered and the worker nodded sagely, running an agitated hand through his grimy locks.

"Yep. Few of the lads, as well as Monsieur De Chagny, have gone down in to the bowels of the Opera House to find her. I stayed behind in order to locate Monsieur Ubaldo who we found bound and unconscious in a broom closet. Almost burnt to a crisp in doing so but we found him. Bloody hard work carrying him out though." Nadir swallowed thickly.

"Another Phantom trick I suppose?" The man shrugged, waving over one of his friends who he had spotted staggering around in confusion.

"S'pose so. It makes sense, considering he managed to creep on to the stage and sing without being noticed. Excuse me, mate…" He walked off without explanation, towards the friend he had gestured to earlier and helped him sit down amongst the crowd. Meanwhile, Nadir skulked off towards the edge of the throng, knowing that he had to find Erik quickly but cursed under his breath when he realised that far too many people were around for him to slip away unnoticed.

However, it was thanks to the timely arrival of Monsieur De Chagny with a rather dishevelled Christine clinging on to his arm , causing a big commotion amongst the crowd, that Nadir could slip unobserved down the disused alleyway that hid a tunnel leading to Erik's abode. Whilst he was annoyed that it taken so long to slip away, he knew he couldn't waste any more time as he fumbled with the key that opened the small, rusty gate. Only he and Erik had access to it and he grimaced as it let out a loud, agonising squeak when he pulled it open. Quickly, he slipped inside, relocking the gate behind him before he picked his way blindly down the first curve of the tunnel, a lantern that hung from wall shortly coming into view. Taking the light off its holding, Nadir grasped the grimy handle in revulsion, grimacing at its slimy texture against his bare palm before he hurried down the corridor, not entirely sure what he was going to find.

~0~

Erik had let them attack him, this was much was true, but he felt like it all happened far too quickly. He lay waiting for the finishing blows, but they never seemed to come. Or maybe, because he was fairly certain that he had blacked out throughout the duration of the beating, it had gone on for an age and they thought he was dead. His battered body screaming at the repercussions was evidence against this.

As he lay crumpled on the floor, with his face pressed hard against the stone, he tried to remember everything that had just happened. He had let Christine go, a thought that brought searing pain to his heart and he had let the mob envelop him in an angry swathe. It hadn't taken much goading on Erik's part as they lingered uncertainly nearby, as he simply held out his hands in a gesture of defeat and closed his eyes. It wasn't long until the first blow landed on his jaw, then another on his shoulder. Over and over, blows were dealt to his body but he did not crumble to his knees until someone literally took them out from beneath him. Not once did he utter a sound and as he looked up at them through rapidly swelling eyes, he saw the feral anger in their eyes as they attacked him like wild dogs fighting for scraps of meat.

Then, he heard the snap in his left wrist and felt the incredible pain that followed soon after that he let out a agonised whimper and Erik decided that that must've been when he blacked out. Now, he was awake, alone and in unbelievable agony as the beatings had taken their toll and he could only wonder when they'd be back to see if their punishments had had the desired effect. He wondered morbidly how long it would take for him to succumb to his injuries, before he attempted to move himself up into a sitting position.

It was a decision he sorely regretted, for it took him a full five minutes to inch himself up and the movement left him wheezing for breath. The pain was far too much and knew that he'd gladly accept his fate should it arrive and walk willingly into Deaths open arms. He let this thought replay over and over again as he sat hunched over, until the sound of soft footsteps could be heard approaching. Moving his head lethargically, Erik glanced through half open eyes in hope and wondered if Death had finally arrived for him.

Instead, a groan escaped his mouth when he saw that it was the Persian who had arrived instead.


	4. Chapter 4

**Thank you to my guest reviewer! Your words were too kind and spurred me on to complete this chapter. I really do appreciate reviews, so please feel free to leave one! As usual, I do not own any of the characters and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. **

~0~

Raoul's study was his favourite room in the whole house, not because it was decadently furnished or that it was peacefully quiet, but because he had the best view of the garden that stretched out before him. Four, large arched windows acted as the portals to this grand outlook and it was always the willow tree that caught his attention the most. Now, in the cold, bleak months of February, the tree was a sparse, twiggy looking thing with a few buds refusing to bloom in the miserable weather. He used to find watching the willow tree bloom over time rather pleasing but now, he felt dull inside, like nothing would ever be the same again.

It was here, by the window, where Raoul now stood as he rested his head against the chillingly cold glass before him. He was staring at the tree now, for underneath it sheltered an ornate, wooden love seat, a place where he and Christine had spent most of their summer the year before. That was when they had been in their 'utterly in love' phase, he had just proposed to her by the lake and then they snuggled underneath the tree to enjoy the warm bliss of the sun on their skin.

Now? Now, the seat looked uninviting and almost cruel as it taunted him of days long gone, reminding him that he'd never hold her in his arms again. Especially under the lazy trails of the willow tree in an almost wedded bliss, enjoying the freedom they had away from him. With a scowl, Raoul savagely jerked the drapes shut until the room was ensconced in a dark, warm light that came mainly from the lively fire in the hearth and took himself towards it, settling down in one of the green velvet armchairs that flanked either side of the hearth. He hooked one of the footstools over with the heel of his foot so that he could rest his feet upon it and sank down in to the comfort of the chair, brooding to himself as he stared into the fire.

This was not how he expected to spend his day. He had woken up with a skip in his step, his heart renewed full of hope that maybe, just maybe, Christine would be in a happier mood and greet him with a smile. She might kiss him on the cheek, or hold his hand in hers but instead, he was greeted with the ring and the note, both of which were currently burning holes in his pocket. Ah yes, the letter. He grimaced as he rummaged through his pocket, withdrawing the slightly creased envelope from its hiding place and held it up in front of him, regarding his name with disappointment. This is how she wanted to say goodbye? He couldn't quite believe it.

Yet, hadn't she always never been fond of farewells? Even when they were children, she had merely waved at him from the back of the carriage that was pulling her back home, to Paris. A summer spent in each other's pockets and all he had gotten was a wave. He remembered feeling quite hurt at that moment in time and now, it seemed things hadn't changed as he regraded the letter with distaste.

Sighing, he withdrew the letter from its holdings and tossed the envelope into the flames, watching in satisfaction as the fire bit at the paper greedily before he turned his attention to the note. He could see the writing teasing him through the folded paper and with an agitated sigh, he unfolded the letter and discovered what she had to say.

_Dearest Raoul,_

_I know that the past few months have been difficult for us and whilst we try to be normal, I think we both know that things between us will never be the same again and for that, I am truly sorry._

_Of course, this is through no fault of your own. I fully take responsibility for the hurt and confusion I am undoubtedly putting you through, considering that you have been nothing but kind and patient with me. I treated your kindness with indifference and I know I have been incredibly unkind by rebuking your good-natured gestures to me. I don't know how you remained patient with me and I don't know how you found it in yourself to be the most brilliantly positive, cheerful person. For that, I am truly grateful._

_No doubt we will be hurting for some time now, but my head is too confused, and my heart is full of longing for something that I do not fully understand. It also mourns for things I have lost and cannot replace. The only thing that is clear is my conscience and I know that it is deeply unfair to you to keep you hoping for something between us that I felt sure day by day would never happen. _

_That is why I left this morning, a decision that I made completely on my own and I left without the help of any of the staff. Please do not blame them for letting me go. I believe that parting now is the best thing for us, so that maybe in the future, we could still have the chance of having a friendship, but I do not blame should you wish to never see me again._

_I am so sorry, Raoul. I truly am. I will always love you, but you deserve someone who will share all of their love with you and treat you with the same kindness that you showed to me. For now, I need the time and space to think about what I need to do next to dispel this heavy cloud of confusion that grips me. It is not fair to keep stringing you along. I hope you find someone truly wonderful, someone far more grateful and better than me._

_You will always hold a special place in my heart, my dearest Raoul._

_Love,_

_Christine._

Raoul let out the shuddering breath he didn't realise he had been holding and blinked furiously as the tears pressed at his eyes, making them ache. His grip grew tighter on the letter as he grasped it between his fingers and thumbs as he stared at the words, stared until they grew blurry in his vision. Again, and again, he read over the letter before he refolded it neatly and held it for some time, mulling over her words in deep concentration. There had been one sentence that stuck out to him, something that snagged his attention time and again.

_'My heart is full of longing for something that I do not fully understand.'_

It delivered a crushing blow to his self-esteem when he came to comprehend what she was referring towards and had to resist the violent urge to crumple the letter up in his hands and toss it on to the fire. She was talking about him. She had to be. What else could it be? That thing in the cellars had burrowed its way into her heart and torn her away from him and he was incredulous that her heart longed for that creature. Although, they had always had a connection that he could never quite understand, and it was one he had grown quite jealous of.

A simmering anger began to settle in his stomach as he thought of that face that had haunted his dreams for countless nights, a face that still haunted Christine as well to the point it had torn her away from him. He did not think it fair that he still woke up at night gasping for air with the lingering sensation that a rope still clung to his neck, yet this was the man that Christine craved. A masked lunatic.

As he bit at his nails torturing himself with the thought of her running back into his arms, Raoul decided that this letter would not pass as a farewell to him. It may have been closure for her but for him? He needed more than a scrap of paper to convince him that she was still sane for clearly, she was not. Was she truly well? Was there a great concern to be had for her health and wellbeing if she'd prefer to live an unpredictable life rather than one full of home comforts and riches? He mulled over this thought for some time until it had seeded in his mind and started to take control over him. It was with an affirmative nod of his head that he decided that yes, he was greatly disturbed by her behaviour and he needed to find her post haste.

He would not let her follow this path that she had chosen to take. It was time to take matters in to his own hands.


	5. Chapter 5

**Irregular updates, I know, but I am on a roll! As usual, I do not own any of the characters apart from Monsieur Joseph and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. Reviews are always welcome and thank you to those who take the time to read my silly ramblings!**

~0~

It was an odd feeling to be standing in the foyer of the Opera House, considering all that happened within its walls, but she stood there all the same casting a watchful eye across the interior. There was still the faint smell of smoke that lingered in the building and it was considered a miracle that the Grand foyer had remained untouched by the fire as it stood in all of its magnificent glory, though the same could not be said for the back of the auditorium and several of its rehearsal rooms. It was rumoured that it would take around a year and a half to completely rebuild the damaged parts, but already work was well underway to reform the building and bring it back to the hustling hub spot it once used to be.

However, Antoinette Giry was not here to reminisce of the good times long gone. She had been summoned by letter to a meeting with the new manager, who she heard was an American man who went by the name of Joseph Errol, and she could only guess what he'd want with her. Antoinette had thought, after everything that had happened and her certain connections, that the Opera House would want nothing to do with her again. So, it was odd for her to be knocking on the familiar office door once more, noticing the eloquently painted gold lettering with a look of distaste. Many times, she had been to this door, to deliver letters to the incompetent mangers that ran the show, to discuss discrepancies in her pay and to fight fiercely for the rights of her ballet girls.

"Come in!" A voice called from inside and Antoinette felt her lip twinge up in amusement at the funny accented French, before she resumed her poker face and opened the door.

The office hadn't changed inside at all, the only thing that was different was its current occupant who was pouring over an abundance of papers on the desk. He looked up from his work when he heard the door close and Antoinette was startled by how young he appeared, nothing like the weary old souls that used to manage the affairs. He was tall, around 6'2", and broad shouldered though still neat and trim. His hair, dark chestnut in colour, was neatly brushed and parted to the side and a light moustache of the same colour tickled his top lip. It looked like a rather endearing attempt to grow something that wasn't quite ready yet and Antionette felt her lips pull into an amused smile, which she quickly hid again.

"Ah, welcome. You must be Madame Giry." He declared in a spritely tone as he bound over from his desk towards where she stood tall and erect like a marble column, his hand outstretched for her to take. She did so slightly, and he shook it with an unexpected gentleness that she couldn't help but raise her brow in surprise. Especially now that his appearance was completed by the pair of eyes that gazed down at her with a warm regard as if they had known her for eternity. They were opal green, framed by circular glasses that seemed to enhance the flecks of gold that danced within them and Antoinette couldn't help but think of someone else that shared the same golden hue.

"Yes, that's correct. And you must be Monsieur Errol." He nodded cheerfully, and his exuberance at least was refreshing to see, especially after having to endure the ghastly shaking jowls of the other two men who'd been in charge.

"That's me alright. It is a pleasure to meet you, Madame Giry. Please, take a seat." He requested, showing her to the worn, wooden armed chair that mirrored his own. Carefully, as the stiffness from the early morning cold still hadn't left her bones, Antoinette lowered herself on to the chair and propped her cane against the desk. She was intrigued to see where this meeting would go and waited patiently for him to sit and start.

"I must admit, your reputation precedes you." He smiled as he sat down opposite her, shuffling some of the papers together before putting them aside in a messy pile. The untidiness of them irked Antoinette a little, but she withdrew her attention from them at his words.

"My… Reputation?" She questioned warily, though from his easy smile she decided that perhaps it wasn't a bad thing.

"Please, do not fear." He reassured, folding his hands together in front of him as he continued to smile, "You know, the first things that I heard upon arriving here were rumours on how a certain ghost had control over this place. I suppose they were whispers to dissuade me from taking ownership, but I rather like a challenge." He smirked good-humouredly, completely oblivious to Antoinette's change in demeanour as her stomach clenched and her hands gripped the arms of the chair she sat in.

"The second rumours that I heard were about a certain Ballet Mistress who would convey messages from this ghost to the people in charge. A fearless, strong woman who put the fear of God into her wards with a stamp of her cane. I do believe that is you, Madame Giry." Antoinette gulped and nodded stiffly.

"Your assumptions are correct, Monsieur. Though I am still at a loss as to what you want with me." He chuckled gently, leaning to the side to retrieve something from a draw in the desk.

"Why, I had hoped that calling you here for a meeting would be obvious enough," he said as he placed a thinly bound document on the leather padding of the desk before him, "I seek your employment, Madame Giry." Any apprehension that had been steadily filling her body swiftly escaped from her, and instead was replaced by genuine confusion instead.

"I don't understand," she murmured after a while, too shocked to think sensibly, "you wish to employ me?"

"Of course. You have a history with this building, you know the way things work around here and you are a formidable, highly respected character. Your talent and knowledge as well with the corps de ballet surpasses any professional dancer that has applied for your position." She felt her neck flush at his high regard of her character but still stared at him as if he had suddenly grown two heads. "You are still confused, I can see, though I don't understand as to why."

"You said it yourself, Monsieur, I have a history with this building. I am connected, bound almost, to the rumours that you hear. Rumours of a ghost and its hell-bent determination to get what it wanted." Monsieur Errol smiled slightly at her words and shrugged.

"I find that rather fascinating."

"Fascinating? I helped aide this spectre in order to get what he wanted, which included torments, a crashing chandelier and threats and you still want to hire me?" She asked incredulous, noticing that he watched her curiously.

"You said _he_ that time. Not it." Antoinette's eyes widened at his quiet observation and swallowed thickly. "One can only assume then that he rumours are true. That the masked man that performed on stage that night was indeed the legendary Phantom of the Opera." He murmured, more to himself as Antoinette sat ram rod straight in her chair, cursing her foolishness.

"You can assume what you'd like, Monsieur." She bit out waspishly and he grinned at her tone.

"Yes, that's true. That is the joy of freedom of speech after all. However, I am more intrigued by your connection with him. It is clear that you were more than just a servant to his biddings. One could say you were well acquainted with him." Antoinette did not like how personal this was getting, and the subtle probing into her relationship with Erik made her grind her teeth in agitation. Still, she willed her face to stay blank and gave him an imperious look.

"And one could say that my supposed relationship with this man is none of your business." It only infuriated her more when he merely laughed at her retort. Joseph held up his hands in a placating manner, seeming to enjoy this conversation far more than she was and shook his head.

"And yet you are protective of it." Antoinette resisted the urge to roll her eyes at him, and instead, turned her attention to a poster of Chalumeau's Hannibal that sat framed on the wall.

His gentle prying into her personal life had left her feeling stung, though she couldn't say she was exactly surprised by it. Whilst she was grateful for a second chance to work here, she knew she would always be dogged by the claims that she and the Phantom worked as a unit, that the only reason she had lasted working there as long as she did was because of him. Untrue, of course, though it had helped having him around. She found that she deeply missed him but pushed that feeling down into the pit of stomach, and instead shifted uncomfortably in her seat after a stilted pause in the conversation.

"I thought this was a job interview, not an investigation into my personal life. Are you really here to hire me because I have prior experience, or is it because I have connections that you may find useful in the long run?"

"I can assure you, Madame Giry, that I want to hire you because you have an incredible talent and authority that I have not seen before. I am merely intrigued as to why you'd risk so much for someone if you weren't well acquainted with them. In my experience, not many people would go above and beyond for someone they barely knew." Antoinette pursed her lips again, before she looked at her skirts and brushed an invisible speck of dust off the fabric.

"He was a very misunderstood man," she began slowly, wondering if she was making a mistake by divulging these snippets of information but something in her wanted to trust this man before her. "Many saw him as a pest, and nobody ever bothered to give him a chance. Perhaps that is why we got on well enough, because I chose to listen to him. His advice and suggestions were usually very sound, and I believed that he genuinely knew what he was doing. Those blithering idiots who had been left in charge certainly did not." Joseph let out an amused chuckle but did not say anything as he waited for her to disclose more information.

"He has certainly made mistakes, that much is true, and he was very frustrated that he could never deal with matters in person. He hid behind a façade, because he believed he had to."

"The mask…?" He pondered aloud, and Antoinette nodded in response.

"You were there then, for the premiere of Don Juan?"

"Yes, I was. It was the most remarkable performance I had ever seen, and I must admit, I did not even care about Monsieur Ubaldo's sudden absence. Your friend, as well as Mademoiselle Daae, have the most breath-taking voices, but together? It was sheer beauty." Antoinette felt her lips tug into a small, appreciative smile and nodded in agreement.

"Were you aware that he was the composer of Don Juan? Every stage direction, every note of music, every word came from his hand." Joseph looked at her, stunned.

"Then he is a genius. It was the most captivating piece of work I have ever had the pleasure to watch."

"Whilst your words warm my heart, he would certainly struggle to accept your compliments." She admitted sadly, before leaning forward in her seat, "I have your word that this goes nowhere but between us?" Joseph regarded her solemnly, the first time she had seen him looking so serious and held up in his right hand as if her were about to take an oath.

"I solemnly swear on my honour and on my life."

"I know little of your honour, Monsieur, considering we have just met." He met her challenge with a sudden flash of a smile, and the exuberance shone from his eyes once more. They seemed to say, _ah, but you do trust me_… But he did not admit this out loud.

"Then my life will just have to do." She pursed her lips at his comment, raising an arched eyebrow at him.

"And when am I to begin work? I understand that it will take at least another year of construction until it is complete."

"Yes, that is so," Joseph murmured as he opened up the document in front of him, sifting through the pages until he had found the one he wanted, "But we have hired some rehearsal rooms nearby in the meantime which we will be able to access in May. That is when you will start work. Is there anything else you'd like to know?"

"I have many questions." She answered simply, and Joseph gave her a crooked grin as he leant forward in his seat and clasped his hands together.

"Well. Let's get down to business then, shall we?"


	6. Chapter 6

**Things get a little raw in this chapter... I mean, I cried whilst writing it but I am feeling very soppy at the moment. As usual, I do not own any of the characters and all rights go to Gaston Leroux etc. Reviews are always welcome and thank you to those who take the time to read my story!**

~0~

**3 MONTHS BEFORE**

It had taken him longer to reach Erik's abode after nearly entangling himself in a trap that lay hiding in wait, before he had to press himself against the wall and urge almost every inch of his body to melt in to the stone behind him. He had heard jeering voices incredibly nearby, though he couldn't be sure where they were coming from, and he thought it a miracle that they had remained completely unscathed in the tunnels of death. It felt like an eternity had dragged by before he unstuck himself from the wall and scuttled down the tunnel, his torch like a firefly bobbing up and down in the darkness.

Now, he was here in the excuse of home that Erik had made for himself, the light completely guttered as lanterns lay smashed and scattered on the floor. His foot nudged something and sent it skittering across the flagstones, the noise harsh and jarring in the silence. With just his torch for guidance, Nadir ground his teeth in irritation and waved it around until it guided him to a few sconces on the wall. As he dared to turn up the brightness a smidge so that he could see what he was doing, a groan escaped from someone behind him, and slowly he turned to locate the source of the noise.

All breath left him when his eyes fell on the hunched, shivering mass on the floor, and as he moved closer, he saw the source of the skittering noise he had made earlier. It was a lantern that he had kicked, big and bulky but broken. A panel of glass had been smashed and the soft breeze had doused its flame within seconds. Careful to avoid crunching the glass underfoot, Nadir moved closer to the figure, knowing already who it was going to be but needed to be sure anyhow, and sucked in a sharp breath at what he saw.

His face, mask less and distraught, was covered in blood that no doubt that was coming from the nasty gash on his head. His left cheek, side of jaw and sharp collarbone were smeared in the stuff as well, and Nadir was immediately brought back in time to what now seemed to be another world, when he faced a similar situation such as this. He was also cradling his left wrist like a damaged bird, and Nadir bit the inside of his lip at the damage that had been inflicted there. He must have made an involuntary gasp, for Erik looked up at him at the sound through heavy eyes, the hope that harboured there vanishing like a whisper before he groaned and closed his eyes again.

"Erik…." He murmured, lowering to his knees. His friends' breaths were laboured, his legs splayed out in front of him and his eyes were barely open. "Allah above…" He muttered under his breath in a grave tone, and gently tried rousing him again by shaking his shoulder.

Erik blinked heavily, before he languidly lifted up his chin and stared blearily at Nadir.

"What?" He drawled, and Nadir could see that he was trying his best to focus on the him, as if he could collapse at any second.

"What happened?" Nadir asked, and Erik moaned deeply, as if a great pain had forked its way throughout his body.

"I let them get me." He answered simply, wincing as Nadir brought the lantern closer to his head. "Get that damned light away from me." He hissed, shutting his eyes against the warming light of the lantern. He even feebly tried to knock it out of the way, and it alarmed Nadir how weak he appeared, how utterly spent he was.

"Why did you let them get you? You could've died!" Nadir lamented, shifting on his knees as the strain on his bones grew uncomfortable. He reached into his pocket as he put the lantern down nearby, withdrawing a handkerchief so that he could ebb the blood that slowly trickled from the wound on Erik's head.

Erik flinched at the forbidden contact but let him tend to his wounds all the same, and looked up at him through tired, dull eyes.

"That was the point. I wanted to die. I have nothing left to live for." Nadir paused as he dabbed at the head wound but did not say anything. There was something about his tone that was so deeply unsettling that he had to blink several times as he studied his friend with intense scrutiny. Slowly, he resumed dabbing at the wound.

"That's not true-" He began but Erik seemed to seethe and jerked his head lethargically away from his touch.

"Yes, it is." He bit out. Erik stared at him warily again, his eyes a sea of emotion, the only part of him that Nadir had always been able to read with ease. He looked utterly crestfallen. " I let her go." He added suddenly in a forlorn whisper.

"I know."

"Is… Is she safe? Did she get out alright?" He enquired, though there was a desperateness to his tone that made Nadir wince.

"Yes. She's fine." The relief flickered momentarily in Erik's eyes, before their amber hue seemed to darken once more in pain.

"Then why are you here?" He mumbled in confusion. Nadir started to answer but paused as he discarded the biting comment he had been about to make and gripped Erik gently on his shoulder.

"I'm here to help." Erik snorted at the comment but did not shrug off the contact.

"There is no helping me, Nadir." He mumbled, and Nadir wanted to pinch the bridge of his nose in frustration.

"I disagree. Besides, that's what you said to me last time and you still came with me." Erik grimaced at the apparent memory as he stared through steadily glazing eyes at the Persian man in front of him. He let out a wheezing cough, shuddering as another wrack of pain trembled through his body.

"You can never let me be, can you?"

"I made a promise to someone a very long time ago that I would always look out for you. I intend to keep that promise." Nadir murmured, though his voice grew croaky towards the end. But Erik didn't seem to pick up on that. He was far too lost in his own head.

"Just break the promise, then. You'd be doing yourself a favour." Erik rasped in an emotionless voice, though gave him a look of surprise when the grip on his shoulder tightened. Nadir's face was pinched with controlled anger, and sadness, as he shook his head solemnly.

"It was Reza who made me promise." Erik's eyes widened as far as they could go considering the swelling, waiting for Nadir to continue. Nadir grew startled as the tears started to prick in his eyes but carried on anyway.

"There were many things my son made me promise before he passed, and that was one of them. To make sure that I looked after you, like you had looked after him, and me. Because whether you like it or not, Erik, you are my family, and you are all I have left. And I _cannot_-" Nadir's voice broke then, and he roughly wiped away the tears with the cuff of his jacket sleeve before continuing on. "I cannot break that promise I made." A silence settled between the men, though it wasn't uncomfortable, merely how the weight of the words had affected them both.

"Ok." Was all Erik said after a while, and that was enough for Nadir to rock back on to his heels and go to help Erik up. The tears had left salty tracks on his cheeks, but he didn't care, and he sandwiched his grip underneath Erik's shoulders, helping him up slowly and carefully on to his feet. Erik staggered forward slightly, though Nadir was there to hold him up, before he tugged off his silk scarf and made a makeshift sling for Erik's useless wrist that hung limply at his side.

"Ready?" Nadir asked, the emotion that had just been broiling through him now pulled back and contained in the box that he liked to keep locked. Erik nodded, looping his arm over Nadir's shoulder as Nadir's arm clamped securely across his back, and together they hobbled their way out in to the outside world.

~0~

As he limped his way through the corridor with Nadir at his side, Erik couldn't help but go over the words he had just heard come from his normally stoic friend. Though his brain felt cloudy, and dizziness hit him in waves as his stomach churned from the pain, it was Nadir's words that had cut through him with a sting.

He had never known how much he had meant to the man, had only thought that he was just an irritation that Nadir was keen to keep an eye on. Had thought that after all of these years, Nadir didn't trust him at all, hence the drop ins and snide remarks, the warnings and the scolding's. Hadn't known that it was because Nadir was truly worried for him, that he was checking up on him simply to see if he was getting by. Hadn't known that he had made a promise to the young boy who had accepted Erik for who he was.

Erik felt his throat grow tight with emotion at the thought of Reza, of the one glimmer of joy he had witnessed in those dark, dark years.

For a while now, it had felt like he had been falling. Christine had been that last grasp of salvation, to save himself from hitting the bottom, and though that had turned out disastrously, it turned out that his last salvation was the man who was quietly aiding him through the tunnels.

A man who considered Erik his family. Family. The word felt foreign on his tongue, but he found he did not mind. He had a family. Even if it was just a grumpy, tired old man who thought he knew everything and anything. He glanced sideways at this very man, though the mere movement of his eyes made him wince, and felt a smile play on his lips. Because despite the heaviness that lay deep in his heart, of the numbness he felt, he thought it funny that it was this doddery old man that had allowed some warmth to return to his heart. To know that he had someone who'd put up with him no matter what gave him something he had not felt in a very long time.

It gave him hope.


End file.
